How to own a boob?

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You don’t own them. They are part of our deal. We don’t have them initially; then it spikes up. Making us all conscious. Pointy situations. First experience. Huh! Your chest starts caving in. You are suggested the first and foremost cover for it. Just a petticoat. Cotton’s ones. You actually don’t realise it’s the beginning of a long journey of line-long boundedness. The cover no 1 isn’t actually helping the pointy situations. Yes, things are amassing in places where they were supposed to be. But very unfamiliar and weird. You start adding an additional cover on top of cover number 1. Oh wow, that’s a lot of cover. At least at night, a little relief from this bondage? All the more need to cover at night. It starts bouncing when you walk around. Time for the ultimate cover. Bondage maxxed. You are suggested the Bra. You are taken to a store, and after a lot of hush-hush discussions, an ultimate cover is obtained. Bounce situation solved. But isn’t there a constant ache in the torso, where the band pinches in?

The ultimate cover in those days was made of cora cotton. Which starts pinching more with each wash. The ultimate cover is just another dress, but never its strap to be seen by others, nor should it be seen open on a clothesline.

Courtesy : made on gemini

You still arent owning the b**b, as you are constantly asked to cover it. You would have them, but you aren’t supposed to let anyone know you have them. If you are stared at, as though our eyes are situated there. You definitely would reconsider not wearing that outfit around that onlooker. If someone has an issue with it, it’s definitely your problem, never theirs. Covered, threateningly squeezed by the cups, and the metal wires below, which pinches in, but it is never acknowledged….

Do we really own them ever?

They are not only a good physical asset that gives us curves, but they also nourish our babies. Did we forget that? Are we still forgetting to own them?